


Protector and Pleasure

by HalfwayThrough



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Smut, new season inspired smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 18:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11652282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayThrough/pseuds/HalfwayThrough
Summary: Sansa Stark is in charge of the north when Sandor and the Brotherhood without Banners arrives to help the cause. She cannot take her eyes off the man and eventually must explore more of him in his quarters.





	Protector and Pleasure

The snow was coming down hard today, as if Jon Snow took what little warmth still remained in Winterfell with him south. Sansa wrapped herself in her thickest cloak in the great hall. The young woman was looking over supply lists and other boring issues that Jon had left under her control. To be honest, she liked being on control. After being at the beck and call of so many in her life, it was nice to scratch a few orders into parchment and send ravens. To feel like she had a slip of power in this struggle for dominance. Even if Littlefinger was breathing down her neck the entire time, she was the active Queen of the North and it had a nice ring to it.   
“Lady Sansa, we have visitors from the south. Sympathizers with our cause,” one of the serving men said.   
“Send them in,” she said, her eyes still focused on her paperwork. They had to stretch supplies thin over the next couple of months all the while training to fight an army of the undead. Father never did prepare her for things like this.   
Then again, she was raised to be polite and pretty. She had learned the ways of ruling from the worst of them.   
The door swung open and footsteps rattled against the hall floor but her mind was still stuck in numbers. Jon had left the north in her hands and she refused to have it fall apart through her fingers.   
“Lady Sansa,” a voice said. Sansa looked up to see the famed Brotherhood without Banners standing before her. They all bowed in greeting. Thoros of Myr in his red robes, and Beric Dondarrion with his one eye. Except one of their party didn’t bow. He stood tall beside his comrades staring directly at her, one half of his face twisted into pink scars.   
Her breath froze in her chest. Her quill fell from her fingers. Was she seeing a ghost? Surely it was an apparition of some kind. He couldn’t be here.  
Their gazes were trapped on one another. Sansa had so many questions, so much to say. It had been so long since she had last seen her protector in King’s Landing. So much had happened, things she wished he had been there to prevent.   
Time was frozen. The other men were still bowing, and Sandow Clegane’s eyes were still on hers. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, or maybe Sansa imagined it.   
She was so startled by his appearance, but his simply being there, that she rose from her seat. The men stood up straight waiting for whatever important announcement she was surely going to give. After all, she had moved with such haste that something must be of dire importance.   
And there was, but nothing she could speak about now.   
“Welcome to Winterfell,” she said, her voice softer than she had intended. The young woman was still figuring out how to breath.   
“Thank you for receiving us, Lady Sansa,” Thoros, the red priest, said. “We’ve come to help defend the realm of men from the wights beyond the wall.”  
Sansa tore her gaze from Sandor long enough to look Beric up and down. The famed warrior with the flaming sword would be a great ally in the fight with the undead.   
“I thank you for joining us. I will arrange for rooms for you and your men,” she said, her blue eyes flickering to the Hound’s face yet again. He didn’t look any different to her. It was if she was a young girl again, standing in her bedroom as wildfire blazed outside of her window. He had offered to take her with him.  
She should have gone.   
“Milady, there are a few rooms readily available,” the manservant who had announced the group leaned in to mention. “I can take them there now.”  
“No,” the young woman said, a little too urgently. “I can show our guests their quarters.”   
She shooed the confused manservant away after learning of where the brotherhood without banners would be staying in Winterfell.   
She led all the men through the walls, stopping at rooms to bid Thoros and Beric a good evening. That she would see them at supper and that she was very interested to talk with them further. Courtesy was her strong suit after all. Sansa filtered them all into her room until she came to the last one on the corner with only one man left to assign.   
“Your room, Clegane,” she said, turning around to face the man.   
She had forgotten how massive he was. Taller than her by a foot and with broad shoulders. The kind of men that they sing of in songs- of giant knights in metal armor. But Sandor Clegane was no knight. He was made a different cloth.   
“You have grown little bird,” he said, simply looking at her. She wished he would reach out, or even say something cruel like he did so long ago.   
“I have been surrounded by killers, like you said,” she said, holding her chin higher. “And I was forced to be my own protector.”   
Sandor reached out, a massive hand moving to caress her face but stopping short of its goal and falling back to his side.   
She was the ruler of the north now. A woman not to be touched so carelessly.   
“I will see you this evening,” she said, and quickly escaping back to the great hall to collect her thoughts. She was not prepared for Sandor Clegane, nor did he seem prepared for her. 

~*~

Dinner in the hall was not without its distractions. The woman’s blue eyes flickered from her soup to the scarred man sitting with his men. Her cheeks flushed when he caught her gaze.   
He drank mug after mug of ale. Sansa called for her cup of wine to be filled more than a few times herself.   
Perhaps it was the drink that made her bold, or the hunger in her core to discover more about this man, but she found herself out in the snow in the dead of night. Dinner had been concluded and all the men retired to their rooms. Sansa’s room of the lord’s chamber, however, was empty.   
The girl stood in front of the wooden door, afraid to knock but unwilling leave. The wine made her mind fuzzy but her heart determined.   
Snowflakes were sticking to her hair and a chill was settling into her bones. It was now or never. She took a breath and raised her hand to gently knock against the door. However, it swung open before she got the chance.   
Sandor stood there, cloak swung around his shoulders as if he was about to venture out into the cold as well. They had clearly surprised one another yet again today.   
They looked at each other for a moment. They both knew where Sandor had planned on going.   
“May I come in?” she asked, her skin hot despite the cold.   
Silently, Sandor stood aside holding the door open for her enter. When the door was shut behind them, Sansa stood beside the fire in his room pretending to warm her hands by the flames when in reality she felt entirely too hot beneath her skirts.   
“One of the men told me… ” Sandor seemed to struggle with the words, his eyes looking past her.   
“Told you what?” she asked, blue eyes like ice piercing into his soul.   
“About your marriage.”   
A shudder ran down Sansa’s spine. She tried to hide it as a shifting her cloak but what was it he had said? Hounds can smell fear?   
“Which one?” she asked sarcastically, ripping her gloves off.   
“I should have taken you with me,” he stepped towards her, his hand outstretched to hold but his fingers curled into a fist as if he couldn’t decide if he wanted to touch her or not.   
“It’s alright,” she said, tossing her gloves onto a nearby chair. “Ramsey Bolton met a gruesome end.”   
“How?” the question seemed to slip from his lips without a filter. A man so used to death, he wanted to know the details but forget whom he was speaking with. Sansa laughed, looking up at him.   
“Hounds,” she smiled, the joke not lost on either of them. “I watched it.”  
She took a step closer to him, her hands encasing his large one.   
“I didn’t understand the joy you took from killing,” she began, looking down at his hand and pulling off his glove finger by finger. “Not until I had the choice- to spare the life of someone who wronged me or take it away.”   
She pulled his glove off and tossed it aside.   
“I chose to take it,” she said firmly.   
His hand tore away from her hold and went to her cheek, caressing it gently.   
“Little bird…” the words came out on an exhale.   
After so many nights dreaming of Sandor Clegane with his scarred face, wondering if he was a nightmare, Sansa knew why he came to her every night.   
She unhooked her cloak, letting it fall on the floor behind. Her fingers reached up to do the same with this cloak but his hands snatched them before they could.   
“You don’t want this, little bird,” he said, but did not push her hand away, simply held it against his chest as if unable to let go of it.   
Wine made her cheeks flush red and she leaned in close, pressing her body against the Hound’s.  
“But I do,” she said, slipping her fingers from his grasp and successfully freeing him from his cloak. “I want you to show me what it’s like to truly be with a man.”   
He stared down at her, his body frozen in place. She could see his hesitance. Sansa rose to the tips of her toes, laying a gentle kiss on the scarred skin of the Hound’s face.   
“You won’t hurt me,” she whispered.   
His lips found hers. A burst of heat erupted inside of Sansa. It was like nothing she had ever felt before. Sandor had always made her toes tingle, and her mind wander unfamiliar places, but to truly have a man’s passion intertwined with her own- it was delicious.   
His beard scratched at her cheeks, but she savored the feeling. They broke apart, gasping for air. She looked into the man’s face and saw desire, the same she felt in her core. Sandor reached down, picking her up in his arms and carried her to his bed.   
Sansa’s trembling hands went to the buckles on the front of her dress, trying to unhook them as quickly as possible. The Hound made quick work of the other fastenings that decorated her gown and in under a minute they had freed her of the heavy black fabric and she was only in her white underclothes.   
Her hands went to his belt, hungrily slipping it off his body. He slipped off his jerkin until he too was dressed in only an under shirt and breeches.   
He climbed into bed on top of her, their lips meeting. He tasted earthy and wild.  
One hand held his weight above the young woman and the other hovered over her body wishing to touch it but still hesitant.   
Sansa reached for it, and gently placed it on her breast. They broke their kiss, Sandor looking down at where his palm had been placed.   
“Show me how,” she whispered. Sandor, unable to hide any of his overwhelming passion dove in to kiss her again. Harder, and deeper this time. His hand massaged her breast, her core building heat as he touched her.   
Sansa’s curious hands slipped between them, finding the top of the man’s breeches and tugging them down.   
She had seen manhoods before. Tyrion’s on their wedding night despite not consummating their marriage. Ramsey’s during his multiple assaults. And others disgusting men had exposed to her during her time with Baelish and in King’s Landing.   
She had never once looked upon a man’s rode and been filled with such desire. It was erect and thick. Sandor, surprised at her forwardness, had sat up trying to cover himself back up again.   
“No,” she said, placing her hands on top of his. “Let me see.”   
She kneeled next to him and examined his thick member. She wrapped her fingers around it, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her palms. She had always heard of cocks being described as hard but now she understood. It felt like stone beneath the skin, and it throbbed with a pulse beneath her fingertips.   
“Oh Gods,” Sandor moaned, his head thrown back.   
“What?” Sansa asked, momentarily confused.   
“Your hands, they feel- they feel good,” he said.   
Sansa looked down at where she grasped his manhood and decided to experiment. She began rubbing his length, running her palm up and down his shaft. He moaned again, his hand gripping the sheets beside him, balling them into a fist.   
The heat within her wanted more. Not just simple moans, and shifting of the hands. No, she wanted something bigger.   
With Sandor’s eyes closed, and his mind on the pleasure her hands were bringing him, Sansa leaned in placing her lips on the very tip of the man’s cock.   
He jerked beneath her, but Sansa didn’t stop there. She opened her lips, letting his cock slid into her mouth.   
“Oh Gods, oh Gods, oh Gods,” Sandor muttered under his breath. Sansa let him slide out, giving his shaft one more lick with her tongue.   
“So, that is pleasurable?” she asked, her wide blue eyes looking up at him.   
“Ye-yes,” he said. “Let me show you.”  
He pressed her shoulders into the bed, having her lay down completely. His warm hands spread her legs, his fingers sliding up her inner thighs until he reached her opening.   
“You’re already wet, little bird,” he chuckled. Sansa’s cheeks flushed.   
Sandor gripped her inner thighs and dipped in, pressing his lips to her clit. He kissed and nibbled the tender pink flesh there, feeling her wriggle beneath his mouth.   
“OH!” she shrieked, pleasure wreaking havoc on her body. Sandor laughed into her before slipping his tongue in between her pink lips.   
Her knees slammed together trapping his head there stuck pressed into her clit.   
“Oh Gods, Sandor, oh gods I- I-,” she stuttered, her eyes closed, overwhelmed with passion.   
Sandor laughed at her again, wrapping his hands around her buttocks and pulling her core closer to him, licking up her juices running his tongue all over her.   
Sansa moaned, her hands gripping the headboard above her trying to hold on so her body didn’t shake apart from the pleasure Sandor was giving her.   
“Sandor keep going!” she moaned, her hands quickly falling to his dark hair, grabbing it in fistfuls and yanking on it.   
“Sansa,” he whispered into her.   
They shook together, his lady nearly to the peak of pleasure when a knock pounded on the door.   
“Sandor you in there?” a voice called from the other side.   
They froze for a moment before Sandor scooped the half-naked Sansa up off the bed and onto the floor on the far side of the bed away from the door. He tossed her clothes over, and took his cloak to her, wrapping it around her shoulders.   
He went to the door and pulled it open to see Thoros.   
“This must be good priest,” Clegane said, rubbing his eyes as if feigning waking.   
“Are you alone?” Thoros asked, confused, looking past the man into his room.   
“Of course, why would you think otherwise?”   
“I just heard a great deal of thumping. I thought you in trouble,” Thoros said.   
“I’m fine, go find another man to preach too,” Sandor said roughly.   
“Very well. Evening to you Clegane,” Thoros said and turned away. Sandor slammed the door behind him.   
Sansa peeked over the bed.   
“Do you think he knows?” she asked meekly.   
“Nah,” Sandor said, climbing onto the bed and offering her a hand, bringing her up onto the sheets with him. She was dressed in only her thin under clothes and still had his cloak wrapped around her.  
Sansa scooted closer, settling her head against his chest. It was an odd feeling that the Hound wasn’t sure he had known before. She was such a fragile creature, so breakable. He was afraid if he got to close she’d shatter.   
But she was different now. Sansa Stark was made of stronger stuff than before.   
“I’m sorry I left you,” he said, wrapping his arms around her, and hugging the girl tightly to his chest.   
“You are here now,” she said, looking up at him. “You can be my protector now.”   
She thought on it for a moment and then amended it.   
“My protector and my pleasurer,” she said mischievously.   
“I’ll gladly serve as both milady.”


End file.
